Tetley’s, Marston’s or Sam Smith’s, just a choice of gassy keg beer and imported bottled lagers from Germany, Holland, Mexico and Spain, all ice cold, of course. Funnily enough, he sat over a glass (they didn’t serve pints, only tall heavy glasses that tapered towards their thick bases) of Labatt’s, one of the less interesting lagers he remembered from his trip to Toronto.
Such were his thoughts as he puzzled over the menu waiting for Linda Fish, the Champagne socialist, to show. Corrigan’s had been her choice, and as he wanted
information, he had thought it best to comply. The sacrifices a copper makes in the course of duty, he thought to himself, shaking his head. At least there was an ashtray on the table. He looked out of the window at the lunch time shoppers darting in and out of the shopping centre opposite in the rain. Raincoats, waxed-jackets, a chill in the air: it looked as if autumn had arrived at last.
Linda walked in after he had been musing gloomily for ten minutes or so. She packed up her telescope umbrella and looked around, then waved and came over to join him. She had always reminded Banks of an overgrown child. It was partly the way she dressed—today blue sweatpants and a matching sweatshirt with a pink teddy bear on its front—and partly the slightly unformed face, a kind of freckled, doughy blob on which had been stuck two watery eyes accentuated by blue shadow, a button nose and thin lips made fuller by lipstick. Her straw-coloured hair looked as if she had just cut it herself with blunt scissors in front of a funfair mirror. As always, she carried her oversized and scuffed leather shoulder-bag, something she had picked up in Florence, she had once told him, and with great sentimental value. Whether it was stuffed with bricks and toiletries or unpublished manuscripts, he had no idea, but it certainly looked heavy.
Linda squeezed her bulk into the booth opposite Banks. “I hope you don’t mind meeting here,” she said conspiratorially, “but I’m afraid I’ve become quite addicted to the chili-burgers.”
“It’s fine,” Banks lied. She wasn’t from Yorkshire, and her slight lisp seemed to make the Home Counties accent sound even posher. Whatever you might say or think about Linda, though, Banks reminded himself, she was far from stupid. Not only did she run the local Writers’ Circle with such energy and enthusiasm that left most
bystanders gasping, but she was indeed a published writer, not a mere hopeful or dilettante. She had, in fact, published a short novel with a large firm only a year ago. Banks had read it, and admitted it was good. Very good, in fact. No, Linda Fish was no fool. If she wanted to look ridiculous, then that was her business.
“I’m afraid I won’t be able to tell you very much, you know,” she said.
“Even a little will help.” Banks flapped the menu. “Anything you’d recommend?”
Her blue eyes narrowed in a smile. “I can see you’re uncomfortable,” she said. “I’m sorry I suggested we meet here. Men are obviously much happier in pubs.”
Banks laughed. “You’re right about that. But let’s see what I can salvage from the situation. Who knows, I might even find something I like.”
“Good,” said Linda. “Well, you know what I’m having. Are you not familiar with this kind of food?”
“American? Yes. I’ve never been to the States but I was in Toronto a couple of years ago. I think I can find my way around. I always found it was best to stick with the burgers.”
“I think you’re right.”
A waitress ambled along, playing with her hair as she approached. “Yes?” She stood beside the booth, weight balanced on her left hip, order pad in one hand and pencil in the other. She didn’t even look at them. Linda ordered her chili-burger and a bottle of San Miguel, and Banks went for the mushroom-and-cheese burger and another glass of Labatt’s. He leaned back on the red vinyl banquette and lit a Silk Cut. The grill had filled up a bit since Linda arrived, mostly truant sixth-formers buzzing with conversation and laughter, and the Euro-pop droned on.
“Do you want to interrogate me before lunch or
after?” Linda asked.
Banks smiled. “I always find a full stomach helps. But if you’re?”
She waved her hand. “Oh no, I’m not in a hurry or anything. I’m just interested.” She stuck her hand deep in her bag and frowned, leaning slightly to the side, as she rummaged around in there like a kid at a fairground lucky- dip. “Ah, got them.” She pulled out a packet of menthol cigarettes.
“You know,” she said, lighting up, “I’d never really thought about it before, but you could be useful to me.”
“Me? How?”
“I’m thinking of writing a detective story.”
“Good Lord,” said Banks, whose knowledge of detective fiction stopped at Sherlock Holmes.
“From what I’ve read,” Linda went on, “it’s clear that one can get away without knowing much police procedure, but a little realism does no harm. What I was thinking was?”
The waitress appeared with their food and drinks at that moment, and Linda’s attention was diverted towards her chili-burger. Feeling relieved at the interruption, Banks bit into his burger. It was good. But his reprieve was only temporary.
“What I was thinking,” Linda went on, wiping the chili sauce from her chin with a paper napkin, “was perhaps that you could advise me. You know, on police procedure. And maybe tell me a bit about some of your cases. Give rne an insight into the criminal mind, so to speak.”
“Well,” said Banks, “I’d be glad to help if you have any specific questions. But I don’t really think 1 can just sit down and tell you all about it.”
Her eyes narrowed again, and she bit into her burger. When she had finished that mouthful, she went on. “I
suppose that’s a compromise of sorts. I’m sure your time is too valuable to waste on writers of fiction. Though I did get the impression that you are fairly well read.”
Banks laughed. “I like a good book, yes.”
“Well, then. Even Hardy and Dickens had to do their research, you know. They had to ask people about things.”
Banks held up his hands. “All right, you’ve convinced me. Just give me specific questions and I’ll do my best to answer them, OK?”
“Okay. I haven’t got that far yet, but when I do I’ll take you up on it.”
